Quite a Downer
by Linda-Linda
Summary: It's been a year, and Kida decides to finally visit his grave. However, the visit doesn't go as plan; emotions besting him, the boy loses his grip on reality as he speeds to his end. IzaKida, angst. One-shot.


How long had it been? A good year or so at best. I guess that things had just gotten to the point where doing this had slipped my mind completely.

It shouldn't have, but it did. And god, I feel terrible for it.

As I strolled outside, feeling a droplet hit my cheek, at first I thought it was my emotions besting me and swore under my breath. However, another hit, and I realized that it had started to rain.

Great, a dull mood for a dull day.

I ran to my car, quickly opening and closing the door as I shoved the key into the ignition. Usually I walked everywhere, though walking in the rain would get me sick, and not to mention the melancholy mood of that, so I chose the old tank instead.

It sputtered as I drove down the road, seeing people and some tourists flee to the buildings with canopies over them, looking at the sky and my car distastefully. I had a feeling today would rain.

It always rains here whenever I'm in a bad mood.

Maybe I'm an esper.

I let the old joke get to me as I chuckled, spotting the edge of a graveyard on my left. I felt my heart twist; I usually never drove near this part of the town, nonetheless walked by it. But this time, I had to. It was the only way to my destination.

The entrance to the graveyard loomed over everything, as it was a large structure amongst homes. I turned the car into the driveway, feeling the roughness of the road change as I drove toward the edge of the cemetery.

This is where my journey ended. No, not my life, my literal journey. It was a grave, right at the edge, all on its own.

Parking the car, I hesitated at the edge of the road before getting out. The rain had stopped, but I suspected it was scattered; it'd come back soon.

Walking to the backseat, I grabbed the ring of flowers that I had bought the day before. They were still a bright purple and red, as if they were plastic. I didn't know what else to put there, though I don't know if he'd appreciate the flowers. He wasn't a flowers type of guy.

What else would I put on his grave, though? Humans? ...That seemed a bit off.

I walked over to the lone grave in its row, feeling a sense of pity for the monument. I finally stopped, standing over it. it was almost as if someone had taken over me, as I felt my arms reach down and set the flowers down on the ground, then rest against the grave as if it was a person.

I didn't like reading the words on the grave. They were so empty, so plain, they were unfitting for someone like him.

_Orihara Izaya._

Nothing else mattered; not the dates, not whatever bullshit signs they'd decided to put on it. The only other thing I noticed and knew was that it was just a monument; there was no body here, just an empty box.

They hadn't found his body. but they knew he was dead from pictures. Gruesome pictures.

And it was all my fault.

It was one day, when I had been forced into working for the informant, that I'd decided that enough was enough. Through some impulsive act, I got in contact with my old Yellow Scarves members, and asked them to preform a final task for me.

I ordered them to kill Izaya. But I never thought they'd succeed.

I mean, when you look at him, he doesn't seem at all mortal; it's as if you'd be able to stab him and he would just get back up on his feet without a care. But he didn't.

And the person they hired to kill him was a crazed maniac. They sent in pictures of his torn body to the newspaper, and had written to me calmly stating that the deed was done.

And it was over.

The legal disputes were easy; the lawyers subjected me as being careless, mentally handicapped. I didn't get any time, but I was put on medication and visited a therapist often. I'd stopped, lately. Not like they did any good anyways.

Like a robot, again, I found myself walking from the grave without a word, and it was only until my hand gripped the handle of the door that I came to my senses.

I dashed over to the grave, and found myself crippling down until I was curled up in front of it. "Bastard, why the hell did you let yourself…why…why didn't you survive…"

Drop. Drop. It'd started raining. Though I knew the wetness on my cheeks wasn't from the rain.

"You were supposed to survive! you were supposed to come back and call me a fool, tell me that I was stupid to believe that you'd be able to die so quickly! You were supposed to come back, kiss me, tell me that I was your favorite and that you wouldn't let anyone else but you touch me! You were supposed to stay until I was able to admit that I loved you back!"

Crash. It was a thunderstorm, and I felt the reverberations from the thunder all the way through me. I couldn't stop, though. I was sobbing uncontrollably, heaving in gasps of air before screaming again.

This continued for quite a while, until I felt the rain die down again, and when the last drop fell I found my common sense and robotic strings start to take hold.

I let myself uncurl, still wiping my eyes when I caught a glance of something at my feet. Looking down, I saw a pair of leather shoes. Feet. Legs. Black pants.

My heart raced.

No. No, no, no, it wasn't him. It couldn't be. That bastard informant…

"Masaomi-kun, you're going to catch a cold ~!"

And then everything stopped. I threw my head back to look up, to see the bastard informant look down at me with a smirk on his face, to see his dark red eyes pierce through mine and tell me things I couldn't tell myself. I wanted that. I wanted that desperately.

All I got, however, was the blanket of clouds in the sky.

It was my imagination, wasn't it?

I felt a wave of...or rather, a lack of emotion go through me as I pushed myself up off the ground.

"Masaomi-kun, you're going to catch a cold ~!"

"I don't care if I get sick."

I walked over to the car, in slow steps, getting into the driver's seat.

"I'm not good at taking care of people when they're sick, but if that's what you wa—"

"I said I don't care, I can just take some meds. Leave me alone, asshole."

"Tsk, language, Masaomi-kun ~!"

I shifted it into drive, then started for the entrance to the graveyard.

"I can swear as much as I goddamn please."

"I mean calling me an asshole and bastard all the time, it's quite a downer!"

"Why would anything down you, you're emotionless."

"You think so?"

I stopped at the gate, just stopped without switching on a turning signal, without doing anything.

That lonely grave. he was lonely.

And I refused to be there.

"I know so."

"...I love you, Masaomi-kun ~!"

"Go get chopped to pieces and die."

I swallowed, then turned right, back home.

"What if I actually did? Would you care?"

"Tch, no. I'd stomp on your grave."

"I think you'd cry ~ I think you'd cry, and cry, and cry, and wouldn't find any value in your life. Because the one person who swore to be there for you and turned out to be there for you in the end would be gone!"

"You wish I would."

"I know you would. then you'd lose your sight on life; you'd lose the will to live!"

I looked ahead as a large building came into my path, allowing either right or left turns. I felt my foot hit the accelerator, hard.

"I'd never let myself get that depressed. I'd be fine. I'm never going to off myself."

"No, no, Masaomi-kun, you're not looking at this correctly; you don't know how it feels to be that low, do you? Once you do, it seems as though it's the only solution. I've seen people on that edge, and trust me, they're easily provoked ~ If there's a chance, they'll take it."

Harder. Harder. I pressed until the accelerator hit the floor. The building rushed toward me, and I blinked once. Twice.

"I admit it. you were right, Izaya-san."

No slack. I kept on going.

Then there was the impact.

* * *

A/N; Well, here you go, here's the IzaKida drabble i wrote about a week ago and finally decided to edit for FF. I literally had to stop going on the computer after a bit from writing this, it depressed me a lot. ;_; I just thought I'd try my hand at angst.


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